Transitory Recollections
by Prtyjedi
Summary: Another, though hopefully slightly different, Fable 2 story. Rated M so I can take liberties with future chapters for dark, cynical stuff. Reviews welcome. Updates come as I finish them, no schedule. Chapter three up!
1. Prologue

Transitory Recollections

Prologue

_The youngster looked on as the old man coughed, a terrible, rasping cough that made your remember your mortality, especially when one such as him, a veteran of countless battles, could be brought to his knees so easily. The old man noticed the younger man's concern._

"_Don't mind it. Death is a natural thing, and I've waited far too long for mine to finally arrive." The youngster looked down. The old man's face grew grave and he rested a strong hand on the young man's knee. "I'm not dead yet."_

"_Why did you call me here?" The young man asked after a long silence._

"_I've wronged you, I know. If you hold it against me, I understand."_

"_I do hold it against you," the young man sad, his voice angry. The old man gave a gruff laugh and then succumbed to another coughing fit._

"_Why did you call me here?" the young man asked again._

"_Fate. Fortuitous circumstances. A whim. An old, dying man's final wish." The old man's mouth became a slim line. "Call it what you wish."_

"_A final attack against me?"_

"_No. Not that. I was a different person then and I've nothing against you. And what happened to your mother wasn't my doing." The young man's hands balled into fists._

"_Don't talk about her."_

"_As you wish."_

"_Why did you call me here?" the young man demanded once more. For a long time the old man was quiet._

"_I want to talk to someone. Tell someone about my life."_

"_Why me? There are hundreds who would be content to die after such an audience as this."_

"_I don't care. It has to be you. And maybe in the process I can… change your opinion of me." There was a long silence. The old man was still, his gaze somewhere beyond this world. The young man grew uncomfortable and for the first time looked about the room. It was made of cold, grey stone and the walls were bare save for trophies of past conquests._

"_Fine. Talk. I'll listen. But that's all I'm promising."_

"_That's all I ask. Give me a moment to gather my thoughts." There was one, final silence. "As with most stories, it's best to start at the beginning…"_

A/N: OK, welcome to my Fable 2 fic. I do realize it's another drop in a sea of... drops. Right, forget that metaphor. Anyway, this is my whack at writing a different kind of Fable story about my hero. My original idea was to write about a secondary character, but came up with no ideas. So, I'll write about this. I'm trying to make this slightly different. This will be a really free-flowing story, instead of following the game's exact chronology. I take lots of liberties. I have Chapter one in the works. As this is a long-term project updates might not be very regular. I swear I'll do my best. So, comments are welcome. Reviews motivate. And feel free to idly wonder who the young man is. But don't expect me to tell you. Anyway, I'll get back to you.


	2. Chapter 1: Childhood, Closure

Transitory Recollections

Chapter I – Childhood, Closure

My childhood was largely unremarkable. I was by no means the only orphan wandering the streets of Bowerstone's Old Town. As a matter of fact there where quite a few of us. Quite a few indeed. Most children formed groups or bands of some kind, seeking safety in numbers. I didn't. I stayed with my sister, Rose. I can't tell you about my parents, because I haven't any memory of them, save for a half-glimpsed smile that might as well be the leering memory of a deceitful dream. But Rose was always there.

We spent our days trying to survive, masking our desperation with happiness that was as much forced as it was needed to cover up the reality. I didn't realize this then, at least not on a conscious level. I'm sure Rose knew it, but for my sake kept it secret. We stole, worked for and always needed food. Food was often the first and last thought of the day.

Hunger was a familiar companion there. It was always with you, always kept you company. It woke you up in the morning and sang you to sleep in the evening. We often wnet for long periods without enough food, but somehow Rose managed to find some coin, often just after a particularly hard times. She said that she found a lost purse or that her begging was very successful, and I saw no reason to think otherwise. Butt now, older and more experienced, I have my theories. None of them are comfortable.

That chapter, or rather prologue, of my life ended on a very particular day. A traveling merchant by the name of Murgo had once more come to town, eager to exchange his "magical" contraptions for solid gold. A chain of events began when Murgo held up a musical box.

"Fashioned by the ancients," the trader said, his eyes gleaming. "It will grant you one wish." While my eyes widened, my sister's narrowed.

"There's no such thing as magic," she said scornfully. At this a woman clad in robes, whom I'd never seen before, turned to us.

"We live in grim times indeed if the young are too world-weary to believe in magic," she said, sealing my fate. At her urging my sister and I set about gathering enough gold to buy the box. It didn't take long. Everything was very easy, unsettlingly, auspiciously easy. We bought the box and ran off to our little spot which granted a beautiful view of Castle Fairfax.

We wound up the musical box and before our very eyes it spun around and vanished in a dazzling flash. My sister was, understandably, dismayed, her wish of living in Castle Fairfax denied to her. We soon returned to our little shacks, my sister fuming and ranting about the injustices of the world and stupid magical boxes. At our home a dog was waiting for us. I recoqnized him. We'd met him during the day, being hurt by some of the older kids. Despite her mood Rose let the dog stay at our home. It was late, and we let sleep take us away from this harsh reality.

We were harshly woken up in the darkest hour by the dog's barking. I was inclined to return to sleep, until a man's voice spoke up, trying to calm the dog down. They were Lord Lucien's men, come to take us to Castle Fairfax. My sister was overjoyed and we immediately got up and followed the guards.

After what seemed like an eternity of wandering through hallways and climbing up stairs our escort finally came to halt at a large oak door. A man dressed in fineries typical of his social status was there to receive us. It wasn't Lord Lucien himself yet.

"Evening, Jeeves. These are the children, as Lord Lucien requested," the guard said. Jeeves greeted us with a warm smile that seemed, while friendly and welcoming, thoroughly practiced.

"Hello, young masters." Then Jeeves dismissed the guard and beckoned us to follow him to Lord Lucien. As we walked through another seemingly endless hallway, Jeeves and Rose spoke. I looked around, and my gaze lingered on a dark man who passed us wordlessly ("Garth. A man of few words", commented Jeeves.) Rose was making an idiot of herself, jamming every sentence full of compliments about the castle and Lord Lucien.

"Where's the grand dining hall?" Rose asked.

"On the other side of the castle," Jeeves said, casting a hand in the general direction. "Lord Lucien hasn't been there since… Since the tragic deaths of Lady Fairfax and little Amelia." Rose's cheery demeanor faltered.

"We heard about that. It must've been awful." Jeeves was silent for a moment.

"Yes. He misses them terribly." He quickly moved away from the topic. "Nowadays Lord Lucien takes most of his meals in his study. He's in there at all hours, doing research."

"What does he research?" Rose asked, once again overflowing with curiousty.

"History, mostly. He's particularly interested in things relating to the Old Kingdom," Jeeves explained, prompting Rose to tell about our day. Jeeves commented politely on what she said, but ultimately was visibly uninterested.

After what seemed like forever we reached the end of the hallway, once again before a pair of mighty oak doors. Jeeves went over some basic protocol for speaking with Lord Lucien, then sent us in.

Lord Lucien was hunched over a table covered in books, maps and other documents. I looked around the circular room. Full bookshelves covered almost every inch of wall space. Directly opposite of the door was a large, beautiful stained glass window, and before it was an old stone pedestal. Finally Lord Lucien left his work and turned to us. He was the ideal nobleman: handsome, and he carried himself in a way that spoke of a civilized upbringing. There was something strange about his eyes that bothered me.

"Children!" he said in a tone of someone who expected obedience but understood the value of using his power in moderation. "It has come to my attention that you have procured a certain musical box. May I see it?" He addressed Rose, as she was the elder one.

"Well, we don't have it anymore, m'lord. We… lost it."

"Lost it?"

"Yes, m'lord. We made a wish and it vanished."

"Ah. I see. Well, what did you wish for?" Despite the straightforward question Rose's cheeks turned a bright crimson and she bowed her head and muttered something.

"Well? Speak up. What did you wish for?`" Lord Lucien demanded.

"Well, we wished to live in a castle. Like this one."

"I see. Maybe that could be arranged." For a moment Lord Lucien was lost in thought, but quickly resumed speaking. "The box itself is of no interest to me. What is remarkable is that you were able to use it.

I'm working to rebuild-" Lord Lucien paused and reconsidered his words. "I'm working on something wonderful. And I need people with exceptional talents to help me. I want to find out if you have those talents." He gestured towards the stone pedestal. "Please, step onto the pedestal." With unsure steps Rose and I got on the pedestal. Almost immediately it lit up with a bright, blue light. Lord Lucien's mouth opened and closed in astonishment.

"It's true. You're Heroes."

"Heroes? You mean, like in the old stories?" Rose saked, bewildered. Lord Lucien didn't answer. He took a few careful steps towards the pedestal and reached out with his hand. As soon as his hand entered the blue light, the light flared red and Lord Lucien cried out. He took a few steps back, clutching his hand. He wore a strange expression.

"What are you?" he asked in a surprisingly frightened tone. He turned to the paper-covered table. He pored over the documents and kept muttering to himself.

"You're none of the Three… One of you is the Fourth." For a moment more he was turned to his notes, but suddenly he faced us again. He had a pistol in his hand. Rose and I were horrified beyond words. There was a strange, frightening fire behind Lord Lucien's eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to interfere." Lord Lucien raised his gun and aimed at us. From Rose erupted a flood of words. She begged, cried, threatened and pleaded for our lives. It was all for nothing. In cold blood, Lord Lucien shot my sister. Without so much as a moment's consideration or regret he turned to me.

"I can't be stopped now." The last thing I remember is being shot and falling through the darkness.

***

_There was a silence between the two men. The younger man once again shifted uncomfortably._

"_Do you think the box was magical?" the old man asked suddenly._

"_What do you mean? Of course not. Your sister didn't get to live in a castle."_

"_I know. But what bothers me is the dog."_

"_The dog."_

"_Yes. How did he know to be at our home? I keep thinking, maybe somehow I made a wish that resulted in the dog appearing at our shack."_

"_That's ridiculous. The box was rubbish."_

"_Oh, I don't know about that. But ever since I thought of it, the question of the dog has bothered me."_

_There was another long silence._

"_Do you expect me to forgive you just because you lost Rose as a child?"_

"_No, I don't. I merely hoped."_

"_Get on with your story, old man."_

A/N: So, Chapter one finally up. I originally planned to include the first bit of the actual game in this chapter, but scrapped that plan and came up with this. Hopefully Chapter Two will get out faster.

A note on the dialogue: I'm copying some lines, paraphrasing others and inventing a few. I think that bits based on cutscenes will have the most game-adherent dialogue. Otherwise I'll probably make a great deal up.


	3. Chapter 2: Because You Are Needed

Transitory Recollections

Chapter II – Because You Are Needed

That night at Castle Fairfax obviously wasn't the end of me. No, I awoke three days later in an unfamiliar room, which I would soon discover to be a caravan. The blind woman from the market square, Theresa is her name, had saved me, brought me to health. When I asked why, she just gave me one of her strange smiles.

"Because you are needed."

Our caravan was part of a traveling gypsy camp. It was with that band of gypsies that I spent what little remained of my childhood. It wasn't much. For a long time revenge filled my every waking thought. Needless to say that, especially after ten years in slums, doesn't make for a terribly well-adjusted childhood. Eventually I could push revenge to the back of my mind and embrace other things.

As I traveled with Theresa she gave me an education. I learned to read, to write, to evaluate, to reason: the tools of a civilized mind. She didn't make me a warrior; she gave me the means to be whatever I wish to be, as long as it served her purposes. We often spoke of morality, ethics, society and above all human nature. She gave a situation that was ostensibly normal, but turned it upside down and then told me to sort it out.

At the gypsy cam I was called Sparrow. It was Rose's nickname for me. Some why I felt that my true name was the last thing I had. I never told Theresa my name, but I wouldn't be surprised if she knew it regardless. Since I came to the gypsy camp I've told my true name three times. It seems likely that throughout this tale those events will come up eventually.

The gypsies were welcoming, but I wasn't one of them. To complicate matters further, I was Theresa's "apprentice" for lack of a better word. She, and I along with her, was treated with respect. She, through her knowledge and many skills, kept our traveling band safe. The older gypsies treated me similarly, despite my youth. Sometimes the younger gypsies included me in their games. However, I was still apart. Throughout my time with the gypsies, my one steadfast, faithful friend was the dog whom I'd met. I called him Nero. He was at my side at all hours, providing comfort and protection.

On my 15th birthday, Theresa made me a promise: one, she would help me get revenge. One day.

* * *

That day came 15 years later. After years of wandering, the gypsy elders had decided to settle down for a longer time, if not permanently. The caravan had made camp near Bowerstone, which was about a day's walk away. A suitable little valley amidst a forest was chosen as the place for the settlement.

I was sitting on a cliff, looking at Bower Lake stretching out before me. Theresa walked over. As usual, I couldn't hear her steps until she was just behind me.

"The day has come for you to leave the safety of this camp. You will venture and gather what you need to defeat Lucien." She was wearing her odd smile while she spoke. I just nodded. We both knew it had to happen. "I've left some things that should prove useful for you in your caravan. Gather them and meet me at the gate." As soon as she'd turned around I started walking, Nero tagging behind me. I was doing my best to walk calmly, but inside I was brimming with anticipation. Something momentous was about to happen. Inside my caravan I found an assortment of helpful items, foremost among them a rustic sword and crossbow. I slung both weapons across my back and then proceeded to meet Theresa at the gate. As I approached the gypsy gate guard ordered the gate to be opened. As Theresa and I passed him he wished me good luck, though his gaze didn't meet mine.

A few steps outside the gate, Theresa turned to me.

"Take this," she said and handed me a small bronze object. "It is a powerful artifact, the kind of which all Heroes once carried. It will grant you access to places others cannot go and allows me to speak to you when necessary." We walked on and Bower Lake came into full view. Theresa cast out a hand, pointing at the small building sitting on a small island in the middle of the lake.

"Look there. The seal will allow you to enter that tomb. In its darkest depths lies the Chamber of Fate. When you come out again, you will be stronger. _Much_ _stronger_." She smiled at me again. "Now go."

* * *

With Nero never more than a few steps behind me I went down to the lake. Nero barked cheerily, stopping me completely in my tracks. I turned around to look at the dog. I had no idea what I would be up against. What could a good-tempered dog like Nero do in the situations I would likely find myself in. I kneeled and scratched his chin.

"I'm sorry. You can't come with me this time." He looked at me imploringly, as if to will me to change my mind. But soon he gave up, licked my hand and padded up the road towards the gypsy village. I couldn't help but feel sad as I watched my only friend leave me. But I also knew that seeing him die would be so much worse. Theresa would take care of him.

I turned back to the lake. A small dinghy was tethered to a pier. I used it to reach the island housing the tomb entrance. Quickly the boat arrived and I dragged it a few feet up the shore to prevent the tide from washing it away. Then I turned to appraise the tomb entrance. It was by no means foreboding, slightly reminiscent of an overtly gothic outhouse. Nonetheless, there was a palpable vibration in the air, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I took the seal Theresa had given me and fitted it into the indentation on the door lock. As soon as it was in a complex system of gears and cogs began turning. Soon the door swung open. A dust cloud and a stale smell billowed forth. Stifling a cough I entered.

Almost as soon as I was in, Theresa's voice echoed in my head.

"Do not be alarmed; I'm speaking to you through the Guild seal." When the corridor ended in a hole in the floor she instructed me to have no fear and jump down. The water would break my fall. With some hesitation I took a leap of faith and plunged down. I had a moment to regret my decision, but mid-thought I struck the cold water. It took me by surprise and the water immediately permeated my clothes, making them heavier. After a moment of struggling I managed to swim up. I gasped for breath and looked around the room, noticing it was in truth a cave. Another while later I managed to get my bearing and spied dry land a short distance ahead. I clambered up and tried to shake my clothes dry. It was a futile attempt that had no results. My spirits low and slightly wet, I proceeded onward.

* * *

The trek through the cave was… intriguing. I was faced with beetles, the kind that _could_ be fatal at worst, but generally could be dealt with by the farmers they usually preyed on. What was intriguing was the cave itself. It was mostly a natural cave formation, but was riddled with the remnants of an old building. Ruined pillars and partial walls dotted the walls. It took me a while before I noticed that the cave was lit by regularly placed lit torches. Looking at the dust, no-one had been in here for decades, if not more, but the torches were in good condition. I shivered and moved on.

Eventually I passed a massive door and I faced a ruined bridge that crossed a chasm. It was a strange cave. It was huge, but in the very center was a large, circular room, to which the bridge led. With wary steps I entered.

"Beyond these broken doors lies the Heroes' Guild," Theresa's disembodied voice said. "For centuries this academy trained the most supremely gifted songs and daughters of Albion, bound together by the blood that flowed in their veins." I entered the room, the Chamber of Fate. For a moment I saw the great hall that it once had been, but it was a shadow, an afterthought that was soon replaced by harsh reality: a crumbling, forgotten ruin

"Though once worshipped by the people of Albion, the Heroes came to be feared and hated. No man alive today remembers the night the Guild burned. Now it lies forgotten." A strange tone entered Theresa's voice, and I knew that wherever she was, she was smiling. "But the Heroes are not all gone. You are here. And you are needed." Now her voice became sad.

"Look around you: these murals depict the life of your forebear, a great Hero. At a young age he suffered a terrible tragedy, once from which he never truly recovered. The world tried to crush him, but he pushed back and emerged victorious. He had the power to remake the world as he saw fit. You must do the same." Next to me a stone pedestal lit up. I instantly recognized it, for an identical one had been in Lucien's study. "Step into the light and learn the true power of Heroes." I took a deep breath and stepped in.

It was an experience that can never be described in words, so I wont' even try. But after I emerged from the light I felt more energized than ever before. Theresa spoke again, instructing me to go to a place in my mind to unlock my Will powers. After a few mental exercises I could summon lightning into my palm. With it I could activate a magical portal that, according to Theresa, would transport me out of the tomb into the nearby area. I closed my eyes and stepped into the portal. There was a tugging sensation, and then for a moment everything went cold. Suddenly I could feel the wind on my face and smell the evening air. I also heard an angry buzz and opened my eyes. I was on a stone plateau and surrounded by beetles. A smile played around my lips and lightning crackled in my palm. Within a few moments they were all gone.

"You are getting in touch with your powers. Good," Theresa said. "I will meet you in Bowerstone, but for the moment the road is blocked on your end. Apparently a bandit by the name of Thag is terrorizing the area and the Albion Guard is worried. Removing the threat will remove the obstacle. See to it." For a moment I looked around, savoring the moment. I was standing atop Hero Hill, a rocky hill that jutted up next to the lake. In the horizon the sun was rising, painting the scenery red. Somewhere in the nearby forests Thag waited along with his men.

A/N: OK, sorry it took so long to get this up. There was an exam crunch which controlled my attention. I'm also glad to report that the "fast-forwarding" part of the story is over. Let's face it, everything up to this point in the game was a tutorial, which doesn't make for incredibly interesting text. Now we're at the point where things get more interesting.

One problem I'm facing with the story's chronological structure. I'll have to take a lot of liberties with the time between bouts of the main storyline to fit in all the other stuff and character development.

Things should switch into gear now. Here's hoping. And as always, feedback is welcome. But please, do criticize when you feel it's fitting. Otherwise my writing won't develop.


	4. Chapter 3: Man of Our Times

Transitory Recollections

Chapter III – Man of Our Times

I'd walked to the Bowerstone Road where the local guardsmen and a huge, makeshift roadblock confirmed Theresa' report. I was directed to the nearby woods to search for Thag. A rather worn-looking and visibly shaken trader pointed out to me a barely noticeable path. Following it, I entered a forest and did my best to walk softly. Before long I spotted a worn skull impaled on a stake. Below it was a plank with the words "Thags territary" scribbled on it, apparently with a dull knife. I smiled wryly and with my hand on my sword handle stepped into the clearing. There were no bandits to be seen, but there was a cage. Two gypsies were being held captive. One of them noticed me.

"Sparrow, watch out! It's a trap!" As soon as the words left his lips bandits jumped out of various hiding places, brandishing weapons and cruel smiles. In reply I drew my own blade and assumed a defensive stance.

"Kill this little shit," one of the bandits growled. Three of them began slowly advancing on me. Finally one overeager individual attacked, swinging his sword like a club. I parried sword-edge first and immediately regretted it. The bandit's sword bit into mine. For a moment our weapons were stuck together, and we tried to resolve the situation with strong tugs. Our weapons separated, but the sudden movement threw me off-balance. Seizing the moment the two other bandits attacked. I swore under my breath and backpedaled while barely managing to block their attacks.

It was high time to regain control of the situation. I picked the nearest bandit as my target and attacked with a diagonal chop. It was blocked so I switched my angle of attack and struck horizontally, followed by a clockwise spinning cut. This one hit home and the blade sank into the bandit's arm. He howled in agony. I took advantage of the distraction and thrust my sword through his chest. I rammed the blade in until only the hilt protruded from the bandit's chest.

I looked into the dying man's and time seemed to slow down. I wanted to look away, but couldn't. I was forced to watch as blood ran down his face and life ebbed from his eyes. A detached feeling stole over me. I pulled back and drew my sword out of the man. With a wet cough he collapsed. I didn't feel anything another bandit attacked. Without emotion I blocked his attacks and replied in kind, killing him. I moved on to the next bandit.

When I finally snapped out of it and regained control of myself my hands were bloody and half a dozen dead men lay at my feet. I heard a crash from the direction of a shack on the opposite side of the clearing. The door slammed open and a gangly bandit ran out.

"Nobody defies Thag the Impatient!" the bandit shouted. "I'll give ya three seconds. No, two! Ah, soddit." With a yell Thag charged at me. He fought like a crazed animal, hacking wildly. While his attacks lacked finesse and were easy to block, they came at a startling pace, giving me no opportunity to strike back without lowering my defenses. It was a question of who would tire first. Looking at the bandit before me and the fight behind me I knew that the odds weren't in my favour. Quick thinking was vital.

I backpedaled and, as predictable as ever, Thag charged at me. As he neared I rolled sideways on the ground and did my best to cut at his calves. Apparently I hit home, as Thag cried out and grasped his left calf with his free hand. Unrelenting, I got up and slashed twice across his back. The effect was negligible so I kicked him between his legs and retreated a few steps. Slowly he got up and turned to me. His breathing was ragged and wheezing. As he prepared for another onslaught of attacks I acted first and ran my blade through his throat. He looked at me, dumbfounded, blood rising to his lips. With a bloody farewell Thag the Impatient, scourge of Bower Lake, was dead.

"Quick! There's a key inside the house!" the gypsies urged, so I went inside. It didn't take long to find the key, but as soon as I did I heard yelling from the clearing. I ran out, sword at the ready. There was a man who was talking to the imprisoned gypsies. He was similar to yet completely unlike the bandits I'd just dealt with. He soon noticed me and the key in my hand.

"Ah. A man in charge. I'm here for my slaves." His voice was calm and collected.

"Slaves?" I asked, wary of the strange man.

"Yes, those two sorry individuals," he said, gesturing impatiently at the gypsies.

"There are no slaves here."

"Look, I don't begrudge you for offing Thag and his lot. They were pathetic and I there was no love lost between us. Killing doesn't interfere with my business, so I don't care if the son of a whore died." The man's eyes were cold. "I could make you a rich man, my friend." That was the last straw. I drew my sword and brought the tip of the man's throat.

"There are no slaves here, and I am not your friend." He narrowed his eyes, and I met his gaze evenly. "Begone while you still can." For a moment he considered his chances, but chose to depart with a sullen 'fuck you' to remember him by. I promptly freed the gypsies and departed for Bowerstone.

* * *

_"So that was my first heroic feat," the old man said with a certain self-irony. The young man said nothing. "What's this? No snappy retort, no stinging comeback?"_

_"I don't need to pick at every carcass along the highway. Get on with your story, old man."_

* * *

The journey to Bowerstone was long and tedious, but a welcome reprieve. I expected Theresa to speak to me again, but our mental link stayed silent. It was a day's walk to the city and I spent the night at a charming roadside inn called the Dead Harpy (To my delight the tavern did indeed feature a dead harpy. The old thing was stuffed and propped up on a chandelier. Though it was beyond a doubt long dead it still gave off a pungent odor, and I swear that I was woken up in the dead of the night by faint screeching. In the morning no one else mentioned neither the smell nor the sounds, so to this day I assume that either I imagined both, or that both are indeed regular occurrences there).

It was midday when the familiar gates of Bowerstone crept into view. They struck no particular chord within me. In my youth we spent little time outside Old Town, as the rich frowned upon the poor being seen in the better districts. The city guards weren't all

A/N: Merry Christmas, kids. Sorry for yet another (relatively) short chapter. Apparently this pace suits me well and my ideas seem to come in this size, so I can't help it. As some of you surely noticed, I've taken two big liberties in this chapter: first, the month's delay until Theresa's arrival and second, the cemetery quest being available so early. I'm taking the "time off" to ease character development, and I'm using the cemetery thing to fill some of that hole.


	5. Chapter 4: Falcon

Transitory Recollections

Chapter IV – Falcon

I fastened my sword across my back and an old flintlock pistol on my side. For a moment I considered tying my hair back with a bandanna, but ultimately decided against it. With these trappings I set out towards Bowerstone Cemetery. I would miss at a least a day of work, but my employer didn't mind ("No work, no pay", was his pragmatic response.) It was time to prove I was a Hero.

As I entered the Old Town district I was shocked, to say the least. It had changed from something fast approaching a shantytown to a flourishing, beautiful area. I walked down the street slack-jawed in amazement as a city guard sheriff lumbered towards me.

"Well, shoot me dead. It's you!" the old man cried and and gave me a bear hug. I was startled but remained calm. As I was freed I peered at my assaulter for a while before it dawned upon me.

"Derek?" The old man nodded vigorously and smiled broadly. In my childhood he'd been in charge of public peace in the Old Town. He was a kind and gentle soul, unlike most of the other guards. He tried to make the lives of the poor easier while making sure organized crime stayed relatively disorganized. He'd been a lowly watch captain when I'd left Bowerstone.

"You look like you're doing well. A sheriff." I said. Derek smiled modestly.

"Some time after you and Rose left town we had a final confrontation with Nicky the Nickname." Despite his name, Nickname had been a cruel and fearsome crime lord. "He'd been ordered to appear in a hall of justice to face his charges. He didn't show and was found guilty on all counts. I'd been ordered to imprison him or kill him if he resisted."

"And did he?" Derek smiled grimly.

"Oh, yes. As a matter of fact he bled to death right where you standing." I looked down and saw a small skull etched into the stone a few feet from me. I felt a kind of grim satisfaction. Nickname, or more precisely his lackeys, had given a lot of trouble to Rose and me over the years. "After Nickname got killed the other would-be crime lords were much less inclined to set up shop. With the area safe investors began to funnel in money, improving the area. I got a promotion, though there's little to do nowadays." We began walking and Derek told me about the many changes that had taken place.

"Speaking of your sister... How is Rose?" Derek asked with the best of intentions. Still, I felt a pang of sadness at the mention of my sister.

"She's dead, Derek." The old guard stopped in his tracks.

"Damnit!" For a moment he just stuttered helplessly before hanging his head. "I'm so sorry, my lad. Sorry beyond words."

"Yeah," I croaked, the words getting caught in my throat.

"Do you know who did it?" I considered lying to him or avoiding the question but decided that Derek deserved better.

"It was Lucien." I deadpanned. Derek' eyes widened. "Ten years ago."

"Lord Lucien?" He repeated and I nodded. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That explains something." I cocked an eyebrow. He kept thinking for a moment and then spoke again.

"Ten years ago, the night you left – you and your sister weren't the only ones to disappear. Lord Lucien was never seen again after that day." Derek sighed. "No wonder, killing an innocent child like that." I said nothing. I'd made peace with Lucien's deeds and what I planned to do to him in turn a long time ago. Our conversation slowly died after that, and I excused myself, thought not before he promised that I'd always be welcome at his house.

My spirits improved noticeably as I distanced myself from the old guard. He reminded me of my past. I'd found that when it came to sources of emotional pain there were two ways to cope: avoidance and drink. I preferred the former. While I had tasted the beverage that was oh-so popular amongst Albion's denizens I found that I disliked the dulling sensation it caused. However, I could not deny that there were times when being passed out was perfectly appropriate, despite the sensations morning would bring.

As I approached the graveyard I head voices arguing. Both parties felt that obstinately repeating "no, you" would win the other party over. I was hoping to slip by unnoticed, but when the words 'undead' and 'summoning' cropped up I had to interrupt. With a grimace I did my best to hide I walked over to the two men who were arguing. They were relatively normal-looking, dressed in shabby overcoats.

"Excuse me," I said. It had no effect. I repeated myself more forcefully with the same result. "Hey!" I finally snapped. The men visibly jumped back. It took a moment for them to regain their composure.

"Oh," the taller one said, trying to appear unperturbed. "What do you want?" I didn't like his tone and swallowed an acerbic response.

"I'm here about the undead activity." For a short (blissful) moment he was quiet with his eyelids fluttering rapidly.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked in a quavering voice. He grunted as his compatriot kicked him and disguised a "jackass"-comment as a cough. "Oh! _Those_ undead. What about them?" I bit back another snappy retort.

"I'm here to deal with them."

"_You _are?" he asked dryly. I glowered at him and to my delight he seemed to physically shrink before my eyes. His tone underwent a sudden change. "You_ are_?" the other man stepped up.

"I'm Sam," he said. "This idiot is my brother, Max." He pointed at the taller man.

"Right. They call me Sparrow." I held out my hand, glad that I was making progress. They shook it eagerly. "So what do you know about the undead?" I was hoping for valuable insight, but was instead met with down-turned gazes, fidgeting and murmuring.

"Well, it might just be that..." Sam trailed off and failed to meet my eyes.

"... That _we_ summoned them." Max finished. I was utterly dumbfounded. A small voice in the back of my mind commented on the utter joy that would ensue from swiftly decapitating the pair of nitwits.

"Why? How?"

"Well, Max here-" Sam began.

"Hey!" Max cut him off. "This was your idea. I wanted nothing to do with that book." Sam turned to him and crossed his arms.

"Oh really? It was you who started going on about 'ancient, lost mysteries'."

"Well, dear me. Was it not in fact you who..." This went on for quite a while and it took me some time to regain control of the situation.

"So. Please. Tell me what happened." They opened their mouths to answer but I cut them off. "Abridged version. And let's forget whose fault this is." After a few failed tries they got to the core of things. Max began explaining.

"We found this book, the Normanomicon. It is a compendium of dark knowledge, gathered by the Order of the Normamancers, the most truly hideous order of sorcerers ever to have lived. Sam here decided it would be a good idea to read out one of the passages." Sam picked up the story.

"Following a blunder on Max's part the undead appeared and left, taking the book with them. We figure they're meant to guard it. We need the book so we can cancel the summons." I sighed inwardly. Finally.

"So all I need to do is kill a few undead and get this book back to you?" They started avoiding my eyes again I sighed heavily. "What's wrong."

"That was more or less right, except about the few undead." It is a bit, well... off."

"Oh, yes. 'A few' is a bit off. Um... Try ' a few hundred'." Once again, I was speechless.

* * *

As I approached the cemetery I went through what I knew about undead. Based on what the idiots had told me I was dealing with hollow men, the most common kind of undead. They were in reality malicious spirits that animated skeletons to exact their revenge on the living. They were relatively pliable so sorcerers liked to use them for quick summonings. However, a spirit's grasp on this world was tenuous at best and suddenly breaking their container, in this case the skeleton, would temporarily banish the spirits from this plane.

It was noon and it hadn't rained for days, but nonetheless a heavy, stifling fog hung about the graveyard. As I proceeded I encountered people fleeing terror, sobbing helplessly or in complete hysterics. A group of guards were planning a "counter oh-fensive". I neared an underpass and suddenly the air grew still. What little sound there had been quieted. The fog seemed to thicken and a dusty smell wafted into the area.

Suddenly my ears picked up a sound. There was a sound, very faint, very deep. Soon the four guards heard it as well and stopped their planning. We were all captivated by that sound. It tried to pinpoint the source but couldn't. It was like it was inside my head. It kept getting louder. I saw the guards shouting something and realized I couldn't hear anything but the sound. It built up to a crescendo, becoming deafening, before vanishing in a second. For a moment there was no sound and I detachedly wondered if I was deaf. All such doubt vanished when I heard an unearthly scream. It was far away but kept getting louder and closer. I turned around to see the source, and as I did a bright, white light rushed past me. I whipped around just in time to see it disappear underground.

It was silent again, though I could hear the guards moving about. Another scream began and was soon joined by numberless others. They began getting nearer. I swallowed, knowing what would happen next. Before I knew it I was surrounded by whistling, screaming and white lights. I closed my eyes and waited for it to be over. When the sound stopped I took a few hesitating steps back from the underpass. I slowly began drawing my sword out. One of the guards took a few hesitant steps towards the submergence point.

He patted the ground with his foot, first softly, then stronger. Finally he drew his sword and, after some hesitation, sank it into the ground. No threat emerged and he turned to wave his comrades over. He turned around and come face to face with a hollow man. The skeleton's skull grinned lopsidedly and chopped off the guardsman's head.

I reacted, rolling forward and coming up behind the freshly dead guardsman. As his body toppled I rose to full height and swung a heavy, two-handed blow at the hollow men. Even as this skeleton collapsed a dozen or so more rose from the ground behind it. I backpedaled and drew my pistol, firing a succession of shots that extinguished the lights from another skull. The three remaining guards behind me also began firing into the mass of rags and bones. While I was thankful for the help it prevented me from engaging in close combat. My pistol would do little good for much longer. The hollow men began advancing with shuffling steps. I put my pistol away and raised my sword. Hollow men were slow of limb and of wit; maintaining momentum was the key.

I opened with a spinning backhand slash. It wasn't enough to destroy my target so I continued into an overhead blow. It was risky, but it paid off. The skeleton collapsed. As it did I picked up its rusting cleaver for a second weapon. I fought aggressively, smashing my spare weapon against my enemies. It broke soon and I picked up another, keeping in motion. I fought haphazardly and without focus. I took down undead by the bushel, but in turn they gave me a collection of minor cuts and bruises. As the dust settled the guards stared at my dust-covered form.

"Blazes! You fought like a man possessed," exclaimed one of them, a captain by the markings on his uniform. I shrugged. What could I say?

"I'm Sparrow. I'm here helping..." I looked for the right words to describe Sam and Max. "A party capable of dealing with this situation."

"It seems like you're the man to do it. How can we help?"

"Do you know anything about the hollow men?"

"We've got some reports from people who escaped. What do you need?"

"I'm told that the undead are protecting a book. That book is the key." He called one of the other guards over. After a brief conversation the captain turned back to me.

"One of the survivors said they saw a huge tome being carried into the Oxenhall mausoleum." I considered this. He drew out a map and pointed the spot to me.

"Yes, that might be it." I sheathed my sword and threw the spare weapon away. On a whim I drew my sword out again and examined it. It had been rusty and worn when I'd gotten it, but now it looked like it was a one swing away from snapping in two. It was as if the captain had read my thoughts.

"Here, take my sword. You'll do more with it than I will." With a thankful bow I took the sword. It was made of steel and had a good feel to it. I placed it in the sheath and was glad that it fit. After a few more well-wishings, flimsy pieces of advice and grim handshakes I headed into the proverbial breach.

* * *

As the hollow man pushed his weapon down I struggled to push back, my one-handed grip giving me meager strength against the unearthly will bearing down on me. With my free hand I drew my pistol and shoved it into the skeleton's ribcage. As the creature realized what I was doing it stopped pushing and looked down, just in time to see the bullet smash through the ribcage into its face. The skeleton collapsed on me. I coughed and shook the remains loose. I turned to look up the hill. More undead were shambling down towards me. Behind them was the mausoleum. There was a hum in the air and I was sure the Normanomicon was inside. A hollow man that towered above the others and wielded a wicked-looking, double-bladed axe was rasping commands in a long-forgotten tongue.

The hollow men caught up with me, but instead of attacking they formed a circle around me. I relaxed my posture slightly, but kept my guard up. The undead commander walked down with unsteady steps, still adjusting to controlling a body. It entered the ring and stopped a few feet in front of me. Pale lights burned in the eye sockets of its skull.

"Human." It rasped slowly, struggling to form the words. "You have killed many of my legion. I challenge you." Without further ceremony it attacked, swinging the huge axe. I didn't even consider blocking. I dropped and rolled sideways. With surprising speed the hollow man stopped his current attacked and swung again at my new position. I leaped back and barely managed to dodge the attack. My plan had hinged on my opponent being slow. So much for that.

This game continued for quite a while. Every time I dodged an attack another one followed at once. I couldn't block because the attack would smash through my defenses and cleave me in half. With a loud _thump_ another blow sank into the ground. My pistol was out of gunpowder and I was out of ideas. I had even tried striking my enemy with Will, but my meager attack only crackled in his empty bones and caused no damage. I dodged again and the axe sank to where I'd just been. I was painfully aware of the circle of leering skulls around me. A crazy idea struck me. I doubted it would succeed, but I had no choice.

I rolled again to dodge the axe and pulled myself up as I stopped. From my belt I drew a small but sturdy dagger. I focused on the axe that was already bearing down on me. Instead of large move I sidestepped as short a distance as I could. The axe sunk into the ground to my left. I stomped down with my right foot on the blade and then moved forward with my left, planting it on the haft of the axe. From the position I pounced up and raised my dagger. I slammed the blade into the skull and it sank deep into the forehead.

I landed heavily and brought the tall skeleton down with me. As I watched the flames in the sockets stare back at me I realized I had made a mistake. A living enemy would be dead from the blade burrowed into his head, but what was that to an empty skull? I tugged at the weapon, but my attempt failed. An impossibly deep sound issued forth from the skull, and its anger was palpable. With a hoarse yell I pulled again: this time the skull snapped off and the skeleton crumbled.

I pulled myself up and surveyed the hollow men surrounding me. I had defeated their leader and I expected that they would afford me passage. Nothing moved in the ranks of undead. I took a tentative step towards the mausoleum and that instant the ranks of the undead surged forward. I sheathed my sword and grabbed the huge axe from the ground. I lifted it, though with great effort. The first eager attackers reached me and I swung the huge weapon. It ripped through two of them in the same blow. I stopped the attack and struck at the few coming from my left. After they fell I stopped the axe's progress again. It was harder this time ad I realized that fighting this way would tire me out quickly. I attacked again, but this time didn't stop the attack, but continued to another. The axe took on a life of its own and seemingly willed me onwards, up the path towards the mausoleum.

I smashed the final hollow man guarding the Normanomicon. I spent a blast of energy to the mass of undead behind me to discourage them while I grabbed the book. I remembered the advice of Sam and Max and opened the book. Hastily I flipped to the seventh page. The last spell on the page was supposed to help me. I read it out loud, trying to remember the pointers I'd been given on pronunciation. As I finished leading the alien words an almost invisible wave rippled out from the book. The advance of the hollow men came to a halt. Slowly I began walking forward. The hollow men stepped out of my way. As I entered the mass I noticed the space left around me was perfectly circular. Apparently I was under the protection of some kind of a spell. With slowly quickening steps I left the cemetery. The undead trailed some feet behind me.

* * *

As I emerged from under the underpass I was more than shocked to see Sam and Max waiting with the guards.

"Captain!" I yelled. "Protect the brothers! They're the ones we need." With that I broke into a full run. A moment after that the hollow men sped up their advance. I reached the brothers and thrust the book into their hands.

"Find the spell you need." Then I pulled out my axe and turned to face the undead, who had built their speed up to a run. I gripped the axe in my hand. The brothers were mumbling something in the background. _Damnit, do something_, I willed at them. The undead kept approaching. As they were but a few feet from me by a miraculous coincidence Max yelled something incomprehensible in a high-strung voice. In the blink of an eye the undead were reduced to a cloud of dust that blew through us. There was a thump behind me and I spun around, but it was only Sam. He'd fainted. I turned to the guardsmen next to me. The captain looked at me gravely.

"In all my days I haven't seen equal bravery. You are truly a great warrior," he intoned. "You are not a mere Sparrow. You are a falcon. You are a Hunter." I merely shrugged. What could I say?

A/N: And thus the story continues. An important note here, kids. I've edited the faithful dog out of the central story. A few reasons, most importantly the fact that I kept forgetting to write him in. In the end I decided it best to edit him out, though cleanly so (Chapter II - Because You Are Needed is where the real edit is). When I thought about it, I noted the dog serves very little by way of plot (spoiler alert: except at the end). At other times he's just a gameplay gimmick. Thus, he'll return at the points where he's actually doing something. Otherwise he'll be out of the way.

Another little thing. Some people might be wondering about the jocular atmosphere prevalent in some parts of this chapter. Yes, well, I can't help myself. Nor can I avoid humour when dealing with Sam and Max, such as they are. I also think that the interplay between death, darkness and drollery is somehow very Fable-like. I hope you will all forgive me.

Oh, and this was my longest Chapter to date. w00t.


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